A complete list of current Broadway shows in NYC (2024)

Aladdin: In briefDisney unveils its latest cartoon-to-musical project: the tale of a boy, an uncorked spirit and an aerodynamic rug. Composer Alan Menken adds new tunes to the 1992 original soundtrack, and Chad Beguelin provides a fresh book. Reputed highlights include James Monroe Iglehart's bouncy Genie and the flying-carpet F/X.Aladdin: Theater review by Adam FeldmanWhat do we wish for in a Disney musical? It is unrealistic to expect aesthetic triumph on par with The Lion King, but neither need we settle for blobs of empty action like Tarzan or The Little Mermaid. The latest in the toon-tuner line, Aladdin, falls between those poles; nearer in style (though inferior in stakes) to Disney’s first effort, Beauty and the Beast, the show is a tricked-out, tourist-family-friendly theme-park attraction, decorated this time in the billowing fabrics of orientalist Arabian fantasy. “It’s barbaric, but hey, it’s home,” sings the genial Genie (a game, charismatic Iglehart) in the opening song, and that’s the tone of Aladdin as a whole: kid-Oriented.As in the 1992 film, the Genie steals the show from its eponymous “street rat” hero (Jacobs, white teeth and tan chest agleam). The musical’s high point is the hard-sell “Friend Like Me,” in which the fourth-wall-breaking spirit summons wave upon wave of razzle-dazzle to demonstrate the scope of his power. (The number matches the rococo cornucopia of the New Amsterdam Theatre.) Granted three wishes for freeing the Genie from a lamp, Ala

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Broadway review by Adam Feldman“Keep it light, keep it tight, keep it fun, and then we’re done!” That’s the pithy advice that the indignant 16th-centuryhousewife Anne Hathaway (Betsy Wolfe) imparts to her neglectful husband, William Shakespeare (Stark Sands), as a way to improve his play Romeo and Juliet, which she considers too much of a downer. It is also the guiding ethos of the new Broadway jukebox musical & Juliet, a quasi-Elizabethan romp through the chart-toppers of Swedish songwriter-producer Max Martin. A diverting synthetic crossbreed of Moulin Rouge!, Something Rotten!,Mamma Mia! and Head Over Heels, this show delivers just what you’d expect. It is what it is: It gives you the hooks and it gets the ovations.Martin is the preeminent pop hitmaker of the past 25 years, so & Juliet has a lot to draw from. The show’s 30 songs include multiple bops originally recorded by the Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears and Katy Perry, as well as tunes that Martin wrote—or, in all but two cases, co-wrote—for Pink, NSYNC, Kesha, Robyn, Kelly Clarkson, Jessie J, Céline Dion, Ariana Grande, Justin Timberlake, Ellie Goulding, Demi Lovato, Adam Lambert, the Weeknd and even Bon Jovi. (Notably absent are any of his collaborations with Taylor Swift.) “Roar,” “Domino,” “Since U Been Gone”: the hit list goes on and on. As a compilation disc performed live, it’s a feast for Millennials; its alternate title might well be Now That’s What I Call a Musical!& Julietl | Photograph: Matthew Murp

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanAttending Back to the Future: The Musical is a bit like watching a car crash in slow motion, except for the part about not being able to look away. The star is a vehicle: a gull-winged silver DeLorean in whose image the Winter Garden Theatre has been tricked out with gleaming circuitry, and which—re-engineered into a time machine by the wild-haired inventor Doc Brown (Roger Bart)—transports 1980s teenager Marty McFly (Casey Likes) 30 years into the past, where he must help his father woo his mother. Audience members, meanwhile, may long for a device to jump them two hours and 40 minutes into the future.There have been solid Broadway musicals adapted from hit movies, but this heap seems to have been assembled out of parts from previous film-to-stage flops. Bart played a mad scientist in Young Frankenstein, and Likes wasa music-loving teen in last season’s Almost Famous. Director John Rando tried ‘80s kitsch in The Wedding Singer; Glen Ballard, who co-wrote the score, also co-composed the ghastly Ghost. Like Pretty Woman and Bullets Over Broadway, the script is by the source’s original screenwriter, in this case Bob Gale. And as in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Bang, the main attraction is a flying car.Back to the Future: The Musical | Photograph: Courtesy Matthew Murphy and Evan ZimmermanWhat no one has remembered to include is the engine, which may explain why the cast is pushing so hard. The ever-present underscoring—drawn from Silvestri’s

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If theater is your religion and the Broadway musical your sect, you've been woefully faith-challenged of late. Venturesome, boundary-pushing works such as Spring Awakening, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson and Next to Normal closed too soon. American Idiot was shamefully ignored at the Tonys and will be gone in three weeks. Meanwhile, that airborne infection Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark dominates headlines and rakes in millions, without even opening. Celebrities and corporate brands sell poor material, innovation gets shown the door, and crap floats to the top. It's enough to turn you heretic, to sing along with The Book of Mormon's Ugandan villagers: "Fuck you God in the ass, mouth and cunt-a, fuck you in the eye."Such deeply penetrating lyrics offer a smidgen of the manifold scato-theological joys to be had at this viciously hilarious treat crafted by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, of South Park fame, and composer-lyricist Robert Lopez, who cowrote Avenue Q. As you laugh your head off at perky Latter-day Saints tap-dancing while fiercely repressing gay tendencies deep in the African bush, you will be transported back ten years, when The Producers and Urinetown resurrected American musical comedy, imbuing time-tested conventions with metatheatrical irreverence and a healthy dose of bad-taste humor. Brimming with cheerful obscenity, sharp satire and catchy tunes, The Book of Mormon is a sick mystic revelation, the most exuberantly entertaining Broadway musical in years.The high q

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanGreat expectations can be a problem when you’re seeing a Broadway show: You don’t always get what you hope for. It’s all too easy to expect great things when the show is a masterpiece like Cabaret: an exhilarating and ultimately chilling depiction of Berlin in the early 1930s that has been made into a classic movie and was revived exquisitely less than a decade ago. The risk of disappointment is even larger when the cast includes many actors you admire—led by Eddie Redmayne as the Emcee of the show’s decadent Kit Kat Club—and when the production arrives, as this one has, on a wave of raves from London. To guard against this problem, I made an active effort to lower my expectations before seeing the latest version of Cabaret. But my lowered expectations failed. They weren’t low enough.Cabaret | Photograph: Courtesy Marc BrennerSo it is in the spirit of helpfulness that I offer the following thoughts on expectation management to anyone planning to see the much-hyped and very pricey new Cabaret, which is currently selling out with the highest average ticket price on Broadway. There are things to enjoy in this production, to be sure, but they’re not necessarily the usual things. Don’t expect an emotionally compelling account of Joe Masteroff’s script (based on stories by Christopher Isherwood and John Van Druten’s nonmusical adaptation of them, I Am a Camera); this production’s focus is elsewhere. Don’t expect appealing versions of the songs in

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This John Kander–Fred Ebb–Bob Fosse favorite, revived by director Walter Bobbie and choreographer Ann Reinking, tells the saga of chorus girl Roxie Hart, who murders her lover and, with the help of a huckster lawyer, becomes a vaudeville sensation. The cast frequently features guest celebrities in short stints.RECOMMENDED: Complete Guide to Chicago on Broadway

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanThere’s a big twist at the end of the first act of Death Becomes Her; the plot of the second includes a giant hole. And those are just two of the injuries that the vain actress Madeline Ashton (Megan Hilty) and the bitter writer Helen Sharp (Jennifer Simard) inflict on each other in this new Broadway musical, a savagely funny dark comedy about how the quest for beauty—in a misogynist world where the “F” word is fifty—can bring out the beasts in women. Its two central characters are old frenemies whose shared rage at age is understandable: They’re Mad and Hel, and they’re not going to take it anymore. The problem is how and on whom they take it out.Adapted from the hit 1992 movie, Death Becomes Her introduces Madeline in a delicious show-within-a-show production number that sets up the musical’s themes with a giant wink. As the star of a Broadway musical called Me! Me! Me!, she wonders why she stays in “the chase to stay young and beautiful”—“Is it the fact that I’m attracted / To each kernel of external validation?” she sings, with nifty internal rhymes—before launching into a punning answer: “Everything I do is for the gaze.” The song then morphs into a pull-the-stops-out campfest, staged by director-choreographer Christopher Gattelli and costumed by Paul Tazewell as a spoofy tribute to Liza Minnelli in The Act. As colorful streamers fly into the audience, you might worry that Death Becomes Her is peaking too soon. It’s not: Having popped it

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Broadway reviewby Adam FeldmanThe Great Gatsby looks great. If you want production values, this adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 1925 novel, directed by Marc Bruni, delivers more than any other new musical of the overstuffed Broadway season. It’s the Roaring Twenties, after all—now as well as then—so why not be loud? Let other shows make do with skeletal, functional multipurpose scenic design; these sets and projections, by Paul Tate de Poo III, offer grandly scaled Art Deco instead. Linda Cho’s costumes are Vegas shiny for the party people and elegant for the monied types. The production wears excess on its sleeveless flapper dresses.The Great Gatsby | Photograph: Courtesy Evan ZimmermanThe Great Gatsby often sounds great, too. Its lead actors, Jeremy Jordan as the self-made millionaire Jay Gatsby and Eva Noblezada as his dream girl, Daisy Buchanan, have deluxe voices, and the score gives them plenty to sing. Jason Howland’s music dips into period pastiche for the group numbers—there are lots of them, set to caffeinated choreography by Dominique Kelley—but favors Miss Saigon levels of sweeping pop emotionality for the main lovers; the old-fashioned craft of Nathan Tysen’s lyrics sits comfortably, sometimes even cleverly, on the melodies.In other regards, this Gatsby is less great. Book writer Kait Kerrigan has taken some admirably ambitious swings in adapting material that has defeated many would-be adapters before her. She cuts much of Gatsby’s backstory, and m

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Theater review by Adam FeldmanHere’s my advice: Go to hell. And by hell, of course, I meanHadestown, Anaïs Mitchell’s fizzy, moody, thrilling new Broadway musical. Ostensibly, at least, the show is a modern retelling of the ancient Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice: Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy goes to the land of the dead in hopes of retrieving girl, boy loses girl again. “It’s an old song,” sings our narrator, the messenger god Hermes (André De Shields, a master of arch razzle-dazzle). “And we’re gonna sing it again.” But it’s the newness of Mitchell’s musical account—and Rachel Chavkin’sgracefully dynamicstaging—that bring this old story to quivering life.In a New Orleans–style bar, hardened waif Eurydice (Eva Noblezada) falls for Orpheus (Reeve Carney), a busboy with an otherworldly high-tenor voice who is working, like Roger inRent, toward writing one perfect song. But dreams don’t pay the bills, so the desperate Eurydice—taunted by the Fates in three-part jazz harmony—opts to sell her soul to the underworldoverlord Hades (Patrick Page, intoning jaded come-ons in his unique sub-sepulchral growl, like a malevolent Leonard Cohen). Soon she is forced, by contract, into the ranks of the leather-clad grunts of Hades’s filthy factory city; if not actually dead, she is “dead to the world anyway.” This Hades is a drawling capitalistpatriarch who keeps his minions loyal by giving them the minimum they need to survive. (“The enemy is poverty,” he sings to them in

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Hamilton: Theater review by David CoteWhat is left to say? After Founding Father Alexander Hamilton’s prodigious quill scratched out 12 volumes of nation-building fiscal and military policy; after Lin-Manuel Miranda turned that titanic achievement (via Ron Chernow’s 2004 biography) into the greatest American musical in decades; after every critic in town (including me) praised the Public Theater world premiere to high heaven; and after seeing this language-drunk, rhyme-crazy dynamo a second time, I can only marvel: We've used up all the damn words.Wait, here are three stragglers, straight from the heart: I love Hamilton. I love it like I love New York, or Broadway when it gets it right. And this is so right. A sublime conjunction of radio-ready hip-hop (as well as R&B, Britpop and trad showstoppers), under-dramatized American history and Miranda’s uniquely personal focus as a first-generation Puerto Rican and inexhaustible wordsmith, Hamilton hits multilevel culture buttons, hard. No wonder the show was anointed a sensation before even opening.Assuming you don’t know the basics, ­Hamilton is a (mostly) rapped-through biomusical about an orphan immigrant from the Caribbean who came to New York, served as secretary to General Washington, fought against the redcoats, authored most of the Federalist Papers defending the Constitution, founded the Treasury and the New York Post and even made time for an extramarital affair that he damage-controlled in a scandal-stanching pamphle

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanReducio! After 18 months, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child has returned to Broadway in a dramatically new form. As though it had cast a Shrinking Charm on itself, the formerly two-part epic is now a single show, albeit a long one: Almost three and a half hours of stage wizardry, set 20 years after the end of J.K. Rowling’s seven-part book series and tied to a complicated time-travel plot about the sons of Harry Potter and hischildhood foe Draco Malfoy. (See below for a full review of the 2018 production.) Audiences who were put off by the previous version’s tricky schedule and double price should catch the magic now.Despite its shrinking, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child has kept most of its charm. The spectacular set pieces of John Tiffany’s production remain—the staircase ballet, the underwater swimming scene, the gorgeous flying wraiths—but about a third of the former text has been excised. Some of the changes are surgical trims, and others are more substantial. The older characters take the brunt of the cuts (Harry’s flashback nightmares, for example, are completely gone); there is less texture to the conflicts between the fathers and sons, and the plotting sometimes feels more rushed than before.But the changes have the salutary effect of focusing the story on its most interesting new creations: the resentful Albus Potter (James Romney) and the unpopular Scorpius Malfoy (Brady Dalton Richards), whose bond has been reconceived in a s

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanHell’s Kitchen, whose score is drawn from the pop catalog of Alicia Keys, could easily have gone down in flames. Jukebox musicals often do; songs that sound great on the radio can’t always pull their weight onstage. Butplaywright Kristoffer Diaz, director Michael Greif and choreographer Camille A. Brown have found the right recipe for this show—and, in its vivid dancers and magnificent singers, just the right ingredients—and they've cooked up aheck of ablock party.Inspired by Keys’s life,Hell’s Kitchenhas the sensibly narrow scope of a short story. Newcomer Maleah Joi Moon—in a stunningly assured debut—plays Ali, a beautiful but directionless mixed-race teenager growing up in midtown’s artist-friendly Manhattan Plaza in the 1990s, a period conjured winsomely and wittily by Dede Ayite’s costumes. The issues Ali faces are realistic ones: tensions with her protective single mother, Jersey (Shoshana Bean); disappointment with the charming musician father, Davis (Brandon Victor Dixon), who yo-yos in and out of their lives; a crush on a thicc, slightly older street drummer, Knuck (Chris Lee); a desire to impress a stately pianist, Miss Liza Jane (Kecia Lewis), who lives in the building.Hell’s Kitchen | Photograph: Courtesy Marc J. FranklinThe show’s chain of Keys songs is its most obvious selling point, but it could also have been a limitation. Musically, the tunes are not built for drama—they tend to sit in a leisurely R&B groove—and the

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanThe ancient Greeks, in the earliest extant plays in the Western canon, frequently drew on mythology in their treatment of human conflicts. So does the modern British playwright Jez Butterworth. In Jerusalem (2009), he took on the primal magic embedded in English identity;The Ferryman(2017) wassuffusedwith Irish folklore. And although his captivating and poignant new drama, The Hills of California, takes place in the brackish British seaside town of Blackpool, it is centrally concerned with another regional mythos: the American Dream.To depict the tangled Webb family, the play toggles between two decades. Much of it takes place in 1976, when three adult sisters reunite at the Sea View, a guest house owned by the family; their mother, Veronica, is dying of cancer on an upper floor, and a fourth sister—the eldest, Joan, who moved to the U.S. some 20 years earlier—hasn’t shown up. But Butterworth shifts periods,periodically, to show us the same characters in 1955, when Veronica (played by a magnetically steely Laura Donnelly) is trying her best to mold them into child stars in a singing sister act.Veronica’s showbiz model is the Andrews Sisters; the girls not only perform that trio’s close-harmony hits (“Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” and “Straighten Up and Fly Right”) but also reenact their publicity interviews at the kitchen table. The goal is to reach the American paradise extolled in another of the numbers Veronica chooses: a throwaway 1948

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanLeft on Tenth begins on hold. Juliana Margulies plays Delia Ephron, the author of this autobiographical dramedy, and at the start of the play she is trying at length to reach someone at Verizon. Her frustration inspires her to write a 2016 column in the New York Times—which, in turn, leads to a whirlwind late-in-life romance with a California psychiatrist named Peter (an easygoing Peter Gallagher). Hello, Jung lover! “This out of that,” Delia says of the Verizon call. “All of this that happened came out of that.” And that’s what the play feels like: There’s a lot of this and that.Most of what happens in Left on Tenth actually comes from a different column that Ephron wrote for the Times a year later. Cautiously at first—she is mourning the recent deaths of her husband and her celebrated sister, Nora, with whom she wrote the screenplay for You’ve Got Mail—she forms a deep bond with Peter; as teenagers, it turns out, they had gone out on a few dates that he remembers fondly and she not at all. “I began to believe that I had fallen into my own romantic comedy,” she says. But their happiness is soon mortally threatened by a cancer diagnosis.Left on Tenth | Photograph: Courtesy Joan MarcusCompressed into a column, this made for a highly dramatic journey—so much so that Ephron expanded it into a memoir in 2022. That drama does not translate, alas, to this attenuated theatrical version. Ephron’s story draws power from her first-person testimony

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Director-designer Julie Taymor takes a reactionary Disney cartoon about the natural right of kings—in which the circle of life is putted against a queeny villain and his jive-talking ghetto pals—and transforms it into a gorgeous celebration of color and movement. The movie’s Elton John–Tim Rice score is expanded with African rhythm and music, and through elegant puppetry, Taymor populates the stage with an amazing menagerie of beasts; her audacious staging expands a simple cub into the pride of Broadway, not merely a fable of heredity but a celebration of heritage.RECOMMENDED: Guide to The Lion King on BroadwayMinskoff Theatre (Broadway). Music by Elton John. Lyrics by Tim Rice. Book by Roger Allers and Irene Mecchi. Directed by Julie Taymor. With ensemble cast. Running time: 2hrs 40mins. One intermission.

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanOliver (Darren Criss) is a Helperbot, and he can’t help himself. A shut-in at his residence for retired androids in a near-future Korea, he functions in a chipper loop of programmatic behavior; every day, he brushes his teeth and eyes, tends to his plant and listens to the retro jazz favored by his former owner, James (Marcus Choi), who he is confident will someday arrive to take him back. More than a decade goes by before his solitary routine is disrupted by Claire (Helen J Shen), a fellow Helperbot from across the hall, who is looking to literally connect and recharge. Will these two droids somehow make a Seoul connection? Can they feel their hearts beep?That is the premise of Will Aronson and Hue Park’s new musical Maybe Happy Ending, and it’s a risky one. The notion of robots discovering love—in a world where nothing lasts forever, including their own obsolescent technologies—could easily fall into preciousness or tweedom. Instead, it is utterly enchanting. As staged by Michael Arden (Parade), Maybe Happy Ending is an adorable and bittersweet exploration of what itis to be human, cleverly channeled through characters who are only justlearning whatthat entails.Maybe Happy Ending | Photograph: Courtesy Evan ZimmermanIn a Broadway landscape dominated by loud adaptations of pre-existing IP, Maybe Happy Ending stands out for both its intimacy and its originality. Arden and his actors approach the material with a delicate touch; they trus

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanThe authorized biomusical MJ wants very much to freeze Michael Jackson in 1992: It’s a King of Pop-sical. The show begins on a note of truculent evasion. Jackson, played by the gifted Broadway newcomer Myles Frost, is in rehearsal for his Dangerous tour—a year before the superstar was first publicly accused of sexually abusing a minor—and the number they run is “Beat It,” a song about the importance of avoiding conflict. “Showin’ how funky strong is your fight,” sings Michael, prefiguring the musical’s approach to his life. “It doesn’t matter who’s wrong or right.”When the song is done, Michael speaks with an MTV reporter (Whitney Bashor) who has landed a rare interview with him. “With respect, I wanna keep this about my music,” he says. “Is it really possible to separate your life from your music?” she asks, preempting a question on many minds, and his reply is a slice of “Tabloid Junkie”: “Just because you read it in a magazine / Or see it on a TV screen, don’t make it factual.” And that, more or less, is that. Expertly directed and choreographed by Christopher Wheeldon,MJdoes about as well as possible within its careful brief. In and of itself, it is a deftly crafted jukebox nostalgia trip. Lynn Nottage’s script weaves together three dozen songs, mostly from the Jackson catalog. The music and the dancing are sensational. And isn’t that, the show suggests, really the point in the end? Doesn’t that beat all?MJis manifestly aimed at peopl

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Theater review by Adam FeldmanRed alert! Red alert! If you’re the kind of person who frets that jukebox musicals are taking over Broadway, prepare to tilt at the windmill that is the gorgeous, gaudy, spectacularly overstuffedMoulin Rouge! The Musical. Directed with opulent showmanship by Alex Timbers, this adaptation of Baz Luhrmann’s 2001 movie may be costume jewelry, but its shine is dazzling.The place is the legendary Paris nightclub of the title, and the year is ostensibly 1899. Yet the songs—like Catherine Zuber’s eye-popping costumes—span some 150 years of styles.Moulin Rouge!begins with a generous slathering of “Lady Marmalade,” belted to the skies by four women in sexy black lingerie, long velvet gloves and feathered headdresses. Soon they yield the stage to the beautiful courtesan Satine (a sublimely troubled Karen Olivo), who makes her grand entrance descending from the ceiling on a swing, singing “Diamonds Are Forever.” She is the Moulin Rouge’s principal songbird, andDerek McLane’s sumptuous gold-and-red setlooms around her like a gilded cage.After falling in with a bohemian crowd, Christian (the boyish Aaron Tveit), a budding songwriter from small-town Ohio, wanders into the Moulin Rouge like Orpheus in the demimonde, his cheeks as rosy with innocence as the showgirls’ are blushed with maquillage. As cruel fate would have it, he instantly falls in love with Satine, and she with him—but she has been promised, alas, to the wicked Duke of Monroth (Tam Mutu)

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanHere comes the rain again. Fans of the 2004 movieThe Notebookwill remember its most famous scene: After gathering steam for years, the romance between Noah and Allie condenses into a downpour, and their drenched bodies fuse together in a passionate embrace. Not since the Bible, perhaps, has a Noah taken better advantage of a deluge. Ingrid Michaelson and Bekah Brunstetter’s Broadway version of Nicholas Sparks’s 1996 novel (the first of several musicals this season adapted from books that became films) takes pains to get this moment right, and it does. Rain descends in sheets from above, Noah and Allie come through in a clinch, and a significant portion of the audience swoons. A little of the water even splashes onto spectators in the front row; this is a show that wants to make people wet. ThatThe Notebooksucceeds to the extent that it does—at the performance I attended, multiple people were moved to tears by the musical’s final scenes—is a testament to the power of the familiar, and of talented actors to make it seem new.In the movie, Noah and Allie are played at different ages by two pairs of actors; in the musical, there are three pairs of actors, and their stories are interwoven more or less chronologically. Younger Noah (John Cardoza) and Younger Aliie (Jordan Tyson) fall in love as teenagers but are separated by fate and meddling parents; Middle Noah (Ryan Vasquez) and Middle Allie (Joy Woods) reunite a decade later. We learn of t

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Broadwayreview by Adam FeldmanCole Escola’sOh, Mary!is not just funny: It is dizzyingly, breathtakingly funny, the kind of funny that ambushes your body into uncontained laughter. Stage comedies have become an endangered species in recent decades, and when they do pop up they tend to be the kind of funny that evokes smirks, chuckles or wry smiles of recognition. Not so here: I can’t remember the last time I saw a play that made me laugh, helplessly and loudly, as much asOh, Mary!did—and my reaction was shared by the rest of the audience, which burst into applause at the end of every scene. Fasten your seatbelts: This 80-minute show is a fast and wild joy ride.Escola has earned a cult reputation as a sly comedic genius in their dazzling solo performances (Help! I’m Stuck!) and on TV shows likeAt Home with Amy Sedaris,Difficult PeopleandSearch Party. ButOh, Mary!, their first full-length play, may surprise even longtime fans. In this hilariously anachronistic historical burlesque, Escola plays—who else?—Mary Todd Lincoln, in the weeks leading up to her husband’s assassination. Boozy, vicious and miserable, the unstable and outrageously contrary Mary is oblivious to the Civil War and hell-bent on achieving stardom as—what else?—a cabaret singer.Oh, Mary! | Photograph: Courtesy Emilio MadridDescribed by the long-suffering President Lincoln as “my foul and hateful wife,” this virago makes her entrance snarling and hunched with fury, desperate to find a bottle

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanOur Townhas one foot in the grave from the start. Thornton Wilder’s 1938 masterwork begins with a monologue from its narrator—the omniscient Stage Manager, played with brusque flair by Jim Parsons in the play’s latest Broadway revival—who tells us where we are: the hamlet of Grover's Corners, New Hampshire, at the turn of the 20th century. But the first actual townsperson to speak is a paperboy named Joe, who chats with a customer while on his morning route. It’s all very anodyne, but no sooner has their small talk ended than the Stage Manager offers a piercing annotation. “Joe was awful bright—graduated from high school here, head of his class,” he says. “Goin’ to be a great engineer, Joe was. But the war broke out and he died in France. All that education for nothing.”A staple of high school drama programs for generations,Our Townis a lot darker than you may remember—and weirder, too. One reason it doesn’t seem dated after nearly a century is that it still feels experimental: All the props are pantomimed, and the Stage Manager orders the actors around in front of us, setting and interrupting scenes to offer a wide-screen portrait of small-town life as rendered in a series of representative vignettes. The wholesome ordinariness, even blandness, of these depictions is purposeful. In his preface to the play, Wilder described juxtaposing “the life of a village against the life of the stars.” (In this production, lanterns hang above the audi

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanDeep into the new musical The Outsiders, there is a sequence that is rawer and more pulse-pounding than anything else on Broadway right now. It’s halfway through the second act, and the simmering animosity between opposing youths in 1967 Tulsa—the poor, scrappy Greasers and the rich, mean Socs (short for socialites)—has come to a violent boil. The two groups square off in rumble, trading blows as rain pours from the top of the stage, just as it did in the most recent Broadway revival of West Side Story. The music stops, the lighting flashes, and before long it is hard to tell which figures onstage, caked in mud and blood, belong to one side or the other.This scene succeeds for many reasons: the stark power of the staging by director Danya Taymor and choreographers Rick and Jeff Kuperman; the aptness of the confusion, which dramatizes the pointlessness of the gangs’ mutual hostility; the talent and truculent pulchritude of the performers. But it may also be significant that the rumble contains no dialogue or songs. Elsewhere, despite some lovely music and several strong performances, The Outsiders tends to attenuate the characters and situations it draws from S.E. Hinton’s popular young-adult novel and its 1982 film adaptation. Action, in this show, speaks better than words.The Outsiders | Photograph: Courtesy Matthew MurphyLike Hinton’s novel, which she wrote when she was a teenager herself, The Outsiders is narrated by the 14-year-old Po

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanThere’s a comic-relief scene at the end of Act IV in Romeo and Juliet that is nearly always cut. Juliet’s family has just discovered what they believe to be her dead body; as the musicians hired for her wedding prepare to leave, a household servant asks them for a paradoxically happy dirge: “O play me some merry dump to comfort me." Sam Gold’s new Broadway production of the play not only keeps this scene but makes it a kind of thesis statement. Breaking temporarily for a moment, the servant demands to hear “We Are Young,” a melancholic 2011 party anthem by the band Fun. “If you don’t play it,” he warns, “I will fuckin’ fight you.”That last line is one of theshow's rare departures fromits 16th-century text, but it captures the spirit of Gold’s aggressively Gen Z conception of Shakespeare’s family-feud tragedy. It’s not just that “We Are Young” is modern (like this production’s costumes, sets and attitudes), or that the choice of this particular song—which was co-written by pop hitmaker Jack Antonoff, who has also composed three new songs for this production—is emblematic of the show’s referential postmodernity: As in the 1996 Baz Luhrmann film, the title is styled as Romeo + Juliet, like graffiti on a bathroom stall; its Juliet, Rachel Zegler, is best known for playing a characterinspiredby Juliet in Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story; its Romeo, Kit Connor, has navigated a forbidden-lovenarrativein his Netflix series Heartstopper. It’s

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanSometimes the old can be full of surprises. That’s the running premise of The Roommate, which brings together two very different senior citizens—Sharon, an unworldly Iowan played by Mia Farrow, and her new housemate, Robyn, a streetwise Bronx transplant played by Patti LuPone—and sends them down paths of self-discovery. It’s also what makes this production of Jen Silverman’s crowd-pleasing comedy work as well as it does. A variation on odd-couple themes, the play tills land that has been farmed many times. Yet it finds freshness in the familiar through a series of small twists—and, in Farrow’s star turn, an enchanting revelation.The Roommate seems expressly engineered as catnip for small local theaters: one set, one act, two juicy roles for leading ladies of a certain age. But director Jack O’Brien, that slylord of all genres, has conceived it smartly for Broadway. Farrow and LuPone take a curtain call before the show even begins, walking onstage to applause as their names are projected in giant letters behind them, as though to announce upfront that this play is to be appreciated as a showcase for actors you know and love. And Bob Cowley’s scenic design situates the whole thing in artifice. Although The Roommate takes place in Iowa City, Sharon’s house, stripped to its wooden skeleton, has been plopped in the middle of rural nowhere; on the rear wall, crisp images of an old-fashioned barn and windpump sit on a pixelated field of corn.The

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanWho doesn’t enjoy a royal wedding? The zingy Broadway musicalSixcelebrates, in boisterous fashion, the union of English dynastic history and modern pop music. On a mock concert stage, backed by an all-female band, the six wives of the 16th-century monarch Henry VIII air their grievances in song, and most of them have plenty to complain about: two were beheaded, two were divorced, one died soon after childbirth. In this self-described “histo-remix,” members of the long-suffering sextet spin their pain into bops; the queens sing their heads off and the audience loses its mind.That may be for the best, becauseSixis not a show that bears too much thinking about. Toby Marlow and Lucy Moss wrote it when they were still students at Cambridge University, and it has the feel of a very entertaining senior showcase. Its 80 minutes are stuffed with clever turns of rhyme and catchy pastiche melodies that let mega-voiced singers toss off impressive “riffs to ruffle your ruffs.”The show's own riffs on historyare educational, too, like a cheeky new British edition ofSchoolhouse Rock. If all these hors d’oeuvres don’t quite add up to a meal, they are undeniably tasty.Aside from the opening number and finale and one detour intoSprockets–style German club dancing,Sixis devoted to giving each of the queens—let’s call them the Slice Girls—one moment apiece in the spotlight, decked out in glittering jewel-encrusted outfits by Gabriella Slade that are Tu

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Broadwayreview by Adam FeldmanDavid Adjmi’s intimately epic behind-the-music dramaStereophonichas now moved to Broadway after a hit fall run at Playwrights Horizons. At the smaller venue, the audience felt almost immersed in the room where the show takes place: a wood-paneled 1970s recording studio—decked out by set designer David Zinn as a plush vision of brown, orange, mustard, sage and rust—where a rock band is trying to perfect what could be its definitive album. Some fans of the play have wondered if it could work as well on a larger stage, but that question has a happy answer: Daniel Aukin’s superb production navigates the change without missing a beat. The jam has been preserved.With the greater sense of distance provided at the Golden Theatre,Stereophonicfeels more than ever like watching a wide-screen film from the heyday of Robert Altman, complete with excellent ensemble cast, overlapping dialogue and a generous running time: Adjmi divides the play into four acts, which take more than three hours to unfold. This length is essential in conveying the sprawl of a recording process that goes on far longer than anyone involved had planned, but the play itself never drags. As the band cracks up along artistic, romantic and pharmaceutical fault lines—fueled by a constant flow of booze, weed and coke, often late into the night—we follow along, riveted by the details and the music that emerges from them. There’s nary a false note.Stereophonic | Photograph: Courtes

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Broadway review by Regina RobbinsWhen the women’s-rights activist Alice Paul, the central figure of Shaina Taub’s musical Suffs, starts planning a march down Pennsylvania Avenue ahead of Woodrow Wilson’s 1913 inauguration, a fellow protester volunteers to ride a white horse at the head of the procession. Paul and others are skeptical: With everything else on their plates, who has time to find a horse? But when the day arrives, their comrade does lead the demonstration astride a white steed—an amusing and historically accurate flourish in an otherwise earnest scene. This early triumph for the suffragists, however, is followed by a steep uphill climb toward the passage of the 19th Amendment. Their struggle is compounded by political and personal conflicts among women divided by age, race and class; alliances are strained, friendships are tested and blood is spilled for the cause of equality. When the curtain comes down for intermission, the returning image of that young woman on horseback may now put a lump in your throat.Suffs | Photograph: Courtesy Joan MarcusAfterpremiering at the Public Theatre in 2022,Suffsnow marches to Broadway with its intrepid director, Leigh Silverman, still leading the way, and most of its principal cast intact: Writer-composer-lyricist Taub makes her Broadway debut as Paul; the invaluable Jenn Colella is Carrie Chapman Catt, the reigninggrande dameof the suffrage movement, and Nikki M. James is the civil-rights leader Ida B. Wells. These p

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanIn the 1950 film masterpiece Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood glamour is a dead-end street. Stalled there with no one coming to find her—except perhaps to use her car—is Norma Desmond: a former silent-screen goddess who is now all but forgotten. Secluded and deluded, she haunts her own house and plots her grand return to the pictures; blinded by the spotlight in her mind, she is unaware that what she imagines to be a hungry audience out there in the dark is really just the dark.One of the ironies built into Billy Wilder’s film, which he co-wrote with Charles Brackett, is that there really was an audience in the dark watching Norma: the audience of Sunset Boulevard itself, whom Norma is effectively addressing directly in her operatic final mad scene. That slippage between the real and the imaginary is even more pronounced in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s 1993 musical adaptation of the story, by dint of its being performed live onstage. And Jamie Lloyd’s very meta and very smart Broadway revival of the show—which stars the utterly captivating Nicole Scherzinger as Norma and Tom Francis as Joe Gillis, the handsome sell-out screenwriter drawn into her web—pushes it even further through the prominent use of live video. The tension between the real and the imaginary is expanded to include a mediating element: the filmic, whose form can range from documentary to dreamscape.Thus described, Lloyd’s approach may sound academic—but in practice, it is often thrill

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanIn the realm of Broadway musicals, Swept Away represents a significant leap of faith. There have been plenty of musicals based on stories from the Bible, including two big hits adapted from the Gospels; there have been many shows about Christmas (including the newly revitalized Elf); and there has been no shortage of singing preachers, priests and nuns. But Swept Away employs religion in a categorically different way: Set at sea in the 1880s, it uses the songs of the Avett Brothers to tell adeeply Christian parable of guilt, temptation, sacrifice and redemption.The Avett Brothers have written one new song, “Lord Lay Your Hand on My Shoulder,” for Swept Away; four of the other 13 songs in this one-act, 90-minute show are from the folk-rock troubadours’ 2016 album True Sadness, and five are from 2004’s Mignonette. The title of the latter album refers to the infamous death of a cabin boy after the 1884 wreck of an English yacht, and that incident also informs the plot of Swept Away (as it did last year’s Life of Pi, whose fearsome tiger bore the cabin boy’s name: Richard Parker). If you know the history of the real-life Mignonette, you may have an inkling of the ghoulish sea fare this seafaring tale has in store.Swept Away | Photograph: Courtesy Emilio MadridSwept Away is not, though, the story of Mignonette. In winding his tale around the Avett Brothers’ songs, book writer John Logan—who has previously crafted both a jukebox musical (Moulin

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanIn real life, Tammy Faye Messner was a character: a televangelist whose outlandish makeup and hyperemotional exuberance at the side of her then-husband, the Pentecostal preacher Jim Bakker, made her a star and then a laughingstock in the emerging “electric church” of Christian broadcasting in the 1970s and 1980s. She poked fun at her own history as a scandal queen in The Eyes of Tammy Faye,a campy 2000 documentary narrated by RuPaul (which inspired the 2021 biopic for which Jessican Chastain won an Oscar). “I’ve often thought I should probably be on Broadway,” Tammy Faye told the camera with a laugh. “All my drama!”The new musical Tammy Faye takes her up on that musing. As portrayed by the English actress Katie Brayben, who originated the role two years ago in London, this Tammy Faye gets to be the heroine of her own story about love and acceptance, not just a sidekick who got kicked off the air (and then kicked when she was down). She gets aromance arc with Jim, played by Christian Borle as a dorky underdog who outgrows his collar. She gets to sing several big solos with catchy 70s-tinged music by Elton John and mostly serviceable lyrics by Scissor Sisters frontman Jake Shears; she gets to wear a few amusingly outré outfits designed by Katrina Lindsay. Yet she doesn’t pop as vividly as she did onscreen. She’s smaller than life.Tammy Faye | Photograph: Courtesy Matthew MurphyTammy Faye’s book is by the prolific British playwright James

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanStep right up, come one, come all, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, step right up to the greatest—well, okay, not the greatest show on Broadway, but a dang fine show nonetheless. Although Water for Elephants is set at a circus, and includes several moments of thrilling spectacle, what makes it so appealing is its modesty, not glitz. Like the story’s one-ring Benzini Brothers Circus, a scrappy company touring the country in the early years of the Depression, this original musical knows it’s not the ritziest show on the circuit. But what it lacks in size, it makes up for in wonder, and it’s pretty wonderful at making things up.Water for Elephants has a book by Rick Elice, who wrote the delightful stage version of Peter and the Starcatcher, and songs by the seven-man collective PigPen Theatre Co., which specializes in dark-edged musical story theater. This team knows how to craft magic moments out of spare parts, and so does director Jessica Stone, who steered Kimberly Akimbo to Broadway last season. Together—and with a mighty hand from circus expert Shana Carroll, of the Montreal cirque troupe the 7 Fingers—they have found the right tone for this adaptation of Sara Gruen’s 2006 romance novel, which operates on the level of a fairy tale.The plot is basic. The impoverished Jake Jankowski (The Flash's Grant Gustin), a sensitive and floppy-haired fellow, is forced by family tragedy to drop out of his Ivy League veterinary school. With nothing

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This musical prequel toThe Wizard of Ozaddresses surprisingly complex themes, such as standards of beauty, morality and, believe it or not, fighting fascism. Thanks to Winnie Holzman’s witty book and Stephen Schwartz’s pop-inflected score,Wickedsoars. The current cast includesLindsay Pearce as Elphaba and Ginna Claire Mason as Glinda.

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Broadway review by Adam FeldmanCue the fanfare! The king has arrived on Broadway, and there will be trumpets—especially since the man in question is Louis Armstrong, the musical icon sometimes known as the King of Jazz. ”I don’t even like that title,” he demurs. “That’s just something my manager came up with.” Luckily, he has plenty of other monikers to go by: Louis, Louie, Satchmo, Pops. At the start of the new biomusical A Wonderful World, each of Armstrong’s four wives calls him by a different name, as though to suggest the interior multitudes of a performer who, in public, always wore a famously broad smile—partly as an invitation to joy but partly as a mask of comedy. The musical offers apleasing depiction ofthatjoy and that mask, if not of those multitudes.The outstanding James Monroe Iglehart, who plays Armstrong, has that smile down: a grin so wide and bright that, when the lights go out, you half expect it to linger behind like the Cheshire Cat’s. Iglehart has mastered Armstong’s mannerisms, too, and the churning gravel of Armstrong’s unmistakable voice (to an extent that makes you fear for his long-term vocal health); in Toni-Leslie James’s snazzy costumes and a series of first-class wigs, he summons Armstrong to life like the Genie he once played in Aladdin. But the performance goes beyond expert impersonation. Whether Armstrong is on stage or off, Iglehart infuses him with bluff, buoyant charm. “There’s been some good and some bad,” says Armstrong of his lif

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